Judith of the Red Hand

By J. Monk Foster

"Judith of the Red Hand" by J. Monk Foster. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 4066338080684

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J. Monk Foster

Judith of the Red Hand

Published by Good Press, 2022

[e-mail]

EAN 4066338080684

Table of Contents

Author of A Pit Brow Lassie, The Queen of the Factory, A Slave. of the Ring, Through Blood and Flame, The Looms of Destiny, The. Forge of Life, etc., etc.

CHAPTER I.—THE HILL END MINE AT SAXILHAM.

CHAPTER II.—JUDITH TRAFFORD AND GABRIEL BLACKWOOD.

CHAPTER III.—THE BACHELOR AND HIS SISTER.

CHAPTER IV.—A SUBTERRANEAN DELUGE.

CHAPTER V.—FACE TO FACE WITH THE FLOOD.

CHAPTER VI.—A GRIM FIGHT FOR LIFE.

CHAPTER VII.—THE TEMPTATION OF GABRIEL.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE WOE OF FAIR JUDITH.

CHAPTER IX.—RODERICK NORBURY'S GREAT NEWS.

CHAPTER X.—THE PASSING AWAY OF NANCY.

CHAPTER XI.—FAIR WIDOW AND HANDSOME WIDOWER.

CHAPTER XII.—'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION.

CHAPTER XIII.—THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XIV.—DURING HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE.

CHAPTER XV.—THE MASTER AND HIS FORTUNES.

CHAPTER XVI .—THE RETURN OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XVII.—THE NEW GENERATION.

CHAPTER XVIII.—OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE.

CHAPTER XIX.—A YOUNG MAN BENT ON WOOING.

CHAPTER XX.—SOME SCHEMES AND DREAMS.

CHAPTER XXI.—GABRIEL BLACKWOOD AND HUGH CHESTERS.

CHAPTER XXII.—CRAVEN DIVULGES THE SECRET.

CHAPTER XXIII.—THE BLACKEST OF LIES.

CHAPTER XXIV.—MR. CRAVEN WOOS THE MOTHER.

CHAPTER XXV.—IN LONDON TOWN.

CHAPTER XXVI.—LAURENCE BLACKWOOD'S FOLLY.

CHAPTER XXVII.—THE MINE OWNER'S GENEROSITY.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—A DISCOVERY AND A DECLARATION.

CHAPTER XXIX.—THE RUSH TO BLUE GUM CREEK.

ANOTHER QUEENSLAND GOLDFIELD.

CHAPTER XXX.—THE MAN FROM SAXILHAM.

CHAPTER XXXI.—STRANGE NEWS FROM HOME.

NOTICE! NOTICE! NOTICE!

CHAPTER XXXII.—THE COMING OF DISASTER.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE SHADOW OF THE REAPER.

CHAPTER XXXIV.—A DYING MAN'S PROPOSAL.

CHAPTER XXXV.—THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER.

SAD ACCIDENT AT BLUE GUM.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN DIGGER GETS KILLED.

CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE MEETING OF THE COUSINS.

CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE LAST WORK OF THE DEAD MAN.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.—THE WOMEN OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XXXIX.—THE WORK OF THE NEW MASTER.

CHAPTER XL.—MR. CRAVEN WOOS JUDITH AGAIN.

CHAPTER XLI.—THE RENDING OF THE VEIL.

CHAPTER XLII.—A GHOST FROM THE PAST.

CHAPTER XLIII.—THE NEW MASTER PLAYS A DEEP GAME.

CHAPTER XLIV.—THE RETURN OF RODERICK NORBURY.

CHAPTER XLV.—THE MAN FROM BLUE GUM CREEK.

CHAPTER XLVI.—THE RULING PASSION.

CHAPTER XLVII.—A DECLARATION OF WAR.

CHAPTER XLVIII.—RODERICK NORBURY AND EDWARD CRAVEN.

CHAPTER XLIX.—EDWARD CRAVEN'S TERMS.

CHAPTER L.—A TRUE WOMAN'S CHOICE.

CHAPTER LI.—WITH THE GLOVES OFF.

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LAURENCE HALIBURTON BLACKWOOD, OTHERWISE LANCE BLAIR.

CHAPTER LII.—SOME OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.

CHAPTER LIII.—THE STORY OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER LIV.—GATHERING OF THE PROOFS.

CHAPTER LV.—PLAYING THE TRUMP CARD.

OPINION OF COUNSEL

CHAPTER LVI.—THE END OF THE PLAY.

THE END

Author of A Pit Brow Lassie, The Queen of the Factory,

A Slave of the Ring, Through Blood and Flame,

The Looms of Destiny, The Forge of Life, etc., etc.

Table of Contents

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CHAPTER I.—THE HILL END MINE AT SAXILHAM.

CHAPTER II.—JUDITH TRAFFORD AND GABRIEL BLACKWOOD.

CHAPTER III.—THE BACHELOR AND HIS SISTER.

CHAPTER IV.—A SUBTERRANEAN DELUGE.

CHAPTER V.—FACE TO FACE WITH THE FLOOD.

CHAPTER VI.—A GRIM FIGHT FOR LIFE.

CHAPTER VII.—THE TEMPTATION OF GABRIEL.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE WOE OF FAIR JUDITH.

CHAPTER IX.—RODERICK NORBURY'S GREAT NEWS.

CHAPTER X.—THE PASSING AWAY OF NANCY.

CHAPTER XI.—FAIR WIDOW AND HANDSOME WIDOWER.

CHAPTER XII.—'TWIXT LOVE AND AMBITION.

CHAPTER XIII.—THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XIV.—DURING HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE.

CHAPTER XV.—THE MASTER AND HIS FORTUNES.

CHAPTER XVI .—THE RETURN OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XVII.—THE NEW GENERATION.

CHAPTER XVIII.—OVER THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE.

CHAPTER XIX.—A YOUNG MAN BENT ON WOOING.

CHAPTER XX.—SOME SCHEMES AND DREAMS.

CHAPTER XXI.—GABRIEL BLACKWOOD AND HUGH CHESTERS.

CHAPTER XXII.—CRAVEN DIVULGES THE SECRET.

CHAPTER XXIII.—THE BLACKEST OF LIES.

CHAPTER XXIV.—MR. CRAVEN WOOS THE MOTHER.

CHAPTER XXV.—IN LONDON TOWN.

CHAPTER XXVI.—LAURENCE BLACKWOOD'S FOLLY.

CHAPTER XXVII.—THE MINE OWNER'S GENEROSITY.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—A DISCOVERY AND A DECLARATION.

CHAPTER XXIX.—THE RUSH TO BLUE GUM CREEK.

CHAPTER XXX.—THE MAN FROM SAXILHAM.

CHAPTER XXXI.—STRANGE NEWS FROM HOME.

CHAPTER XXXII.—THE COMING OF DISASTER.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE SHADOW OF THE REAPER.

CHAPTER XXXIV.—A DYING MAN'S PROPOSAL.

CHAPTER XXXV.—THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER.

CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE MEETING OF THE COUSINS.

CHAPTER XXXVII.—THE LAST WORK OF THE DEAD MAN.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.—THE WOMEN OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER XXXIX.—THE WORK OF THE NEW MASTER.

CHAPTER XL.—MR. CRAVEN WOOS JUDITH AGAIN.

CHAPTER XLI.—THE RENDING OF THE VEIL.

CHAPTER XLII.—A GHOST FROM THE PAST.

CHAPTER XLIII.—THE NEW MASTER PLAYS A DEEP GAME.

CHAPTER XLIV.—THE RETURN OF RODERICK NORBURY.

CHAPTER XLV.—THE MAN FROM BLUE GUM CREEK.

CHAPTER XLVI.—THE RULING PASSION.

CHAPTER XLVII.—A DECLARATION OF WAR.

CHAPTER XLVIII.—RODERICK NORBURY AND EDWARD CRAVEN.

CHAPTER XLIX.—EDWARD CRAVEN'S TERMS.

CHAPTER L.—A TRUE WOMAN'S CHOICE.

CHAPTER LI.—WITH THE GLOVES OFF.

CHAPTER LII.—SOME OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.

CHAPTER LIII.—THE STORY OF THE RED HAND.

CHAPTER LIV.—GATHERING OF THE PROOFS.

CHAPTER LV.—PLAYING THE TRUMP CARD.

CHAPTER LVI.—THE END OF THE PLAY.

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CHAPTER I.—THE HILL END MINE AT SAXILHAM.

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The village of Saxilham lay in the midst of a broad shallow Valley, through which a sluggish stream, named the Saxe, flowed lazily—save in wet, wintry seasons, when its swollen waters surged turbidly between its banks of grass and gravel and under the low-arched, old-fashioned bridge of stone, over which the village highway ran.

To the north and south of Saxilham the country rose in green, softly-swelling uplands, cultivated to the highest ridge on either hand, and dotted here and there with farmhouses. Trees were scarce on the uplands, but down in the valley there were many umbrageous clumps of elm, ash and sycamore and the lush meadows lying on either side of the little river, the fruitful orchards, spread here and there about the village, gave the place a most pleasant and countrified aspect.

Yet Saxilham folk were in no sense an agricultural community. Of the two or three thousand souls the busy little village contained, not more than half a hundred of them earned a livelihood either on the land or from it. Of those, perhaps, a score of villagers won their bread and cheese as farm labourers; and in the proper season the wives and daughters of those rustics eked out the earnings of their husbands by lending a helping hand in the fields when the hay was shorn, the corn garnered, or the rich root crops were gathered in.

But for the remaining four or five hundred of workers in the village there was an abundance of employment in the neighbourhood. Beyond the green uplands to the east lay the prosperous town of Saxilford, not more than a couple of miles away, and there one might find plenty to do in the cotton-mills, the iron foundries, the coal pits, the score and one different workshops with which the thriving old borough abounded.

Hence, it followed that there was each morning, winter and summer, fair weather or foul, an exodus of toilers from the village to many points of the compass—many of the Saxilham men and youths faring forth to one or another of the different collieries in the district, some of them seeking the town's workshops, wherein they plied their trades; and quite a crowd of Saxilham women and maidens going to the cotton mills at Saxilford.

There was one colliery in the village, but all in vain a stranger might have looked for the towering headgear, the big engine-house, the great pulleys, and the thin snakelike steel ropes, which almost always mark the spot where coal is wrought.

That colliery was known locally as Old Haliburton's Colliery, but out of the village itself the name of the mine was the Hill End Colliery. The mine itself was a small, old-fashioned concern, situated a quarter of a mile or so outside the village at the foot of the green swelling upland; and it consisted, not of a shaft, but of an arched tunnel, adit, or day eye, driven right into the heart of the hill side.

At the mouth of the tunnel the coal cropped out under the green sod, sloping down beneath the earth somewhat steeply; and here some teens of years before the winning of the seam had been commenced, in the clumsy and inefficient manner common to those days. But when the present proprietors came on the scene things had been altered for the better in every way, and now in the year 1869, when our story begins, the Hill End Colliery was almost all that one could expect in a mine of that character.

The mouth of the tunnel was six feet in height and about seven feet wide, a narrow line of tramway running from the surface to a point half a mile distant under the green hill. Save for the unnecessary headgear, there was everything about the mine usually found at more important collieries.

A low engine-house stood, a score of yards from the mouth of the tunnel; inside it was a powerful pair of coupled engines, which let down the gangs of empty tubs or boxes in the tunnel and hauled back the gangs of full tubs; there were shoots and screens, whereat carts for land sale and waggons for foreign sale could be loaded; there was a banksman who looked after all the coal that came out of the seam; there were surface labourers and half-a-dozen pit-brow girls running the small pit waggons here and there, accompanied by the usual clang and clamour, dust and bustle of a pit in full swing; while below, the wide fertile valley lay pleasantly in the sunshine, the picturesque old village slumbered or went quietly about its business, and the green slopes on either side Saxilham nurtured their crops of grain and roots.

One afternoon in May, shortly after the Hill End mine had ceased working for the day, a miner and a miner maid came down the sloping road together, making for the village, where both lived. She was young, tall and finely built, and the sun struck ruddy gleams from the masses of hair showing in front and below her soft bonnet; he was some seven or eight years older than his companion—perhaps six-and-twenty—and his big muscular frame, and his short black beard, added to the grime of the mine he had just left, gave the man a somewhat dour appearance.

Well, Judith Trafford, the man said, presently, and how are you? I reckon you'd be a bit surprised to see me back in Saxilham; but glad I expect?

I'm all right, Roderick Norbury, was the girl's quiet response, a certain vein of hardness apparent in her voice. And to tell the truth, I was surprised to see you here, and not in any way glad. Aren't you frightened that the police will be after you for that poachin' business?

Never a bit, lass, he cried jauntily. They collared the rest, and my mates were too staunch to give me away. The police will never bother now, and even if they do, I couldn't help coming back, Judith.

To look after your mother, I dare say?

My mother! Not at all, Judith. It was yourself I was thinking about. You know what I mean.

I have told you once for all, Roderick Norbury, the pit-brow girl said firmly, that I do not care for you—that I never will care for you—and, surely, that should be enough for any man of spirit like you.

Enough for a milk-sop, he cried, doggedly, but not for me. You know what I think about you. I mean to have you for my wife some day—and if all the men in Saxilham come between us and if you say 'No' a hundred times, I shall only ask you again. That's the sort of man and lover I am, Judith Trafford! And he bent slightly to put his black face close to her own fair one.

Then I'm only sorry for you, she answered, with a curling lip, and tossing back her head.

Why sorry, Judith? he demanded, almost fiercely. I want your love—and your pity, and by—I'll have it too!

I think not, Roderick Norbury, was the girl's quietly emphatic rejoinder, as she swung along by her rough wooer's side, her undisturbed face showing her unconcern. But perhaps you haven't heard that I am keeping company now with Gabriel Blackwood?

I've heard, but I don't care a curse for that, Judith! It's a fine thing, I daresay you think, to have Gabriel Blackwood at your heels. His father is manager of Old Haliburton's Colliery; Gabriel himself is underlooker there, and may be manager some day. Well, you're flyin' at big game, wench, but I'm not afeard that Gabriel will ever wed you! and the big, coarse-grained pitman laughed brutally.

Not marry me! Who's to stop him, Roderick Norbury, if he wants to? And don't I tell you that we are keepin' company now.

I'd stop him if I could! he snarled savagely, but it's not likely he'll need stopping, Judith, he added, in a meaning undertone.

What do you mean now? she demanded.

I mean that Gabriel Blackwood will never marry you, although you say he is courting you. That's what I mean, Judith Trafford. And it stands to reason that I am right. Now just look at things as I see 'em, he urged. You're the handsomest wench that ever stepped in Saxilham, and Gabriel Blackwood is the finest chap, I suppose. So far you are mates; but there all ends. You're a pit-brow lass, an' are likely to remain such all your days; but with Gabriel things are different. He means to be a manager someday—will be one too, I believe; and do you think that a man that's ambitious an' handsome, an' clever, like young Blackwood, will saddle himself for ever with a wife—no matter how beautiful she may be—who is nothing but a pit-brow lass that can hardly spell her own name?

I do believe it! she cried. Gabriel has pledged his word to me like a man, and I believe he will keep it like a man. What makes you say he won't? Has Gabriel ever said anything? Why I hardly believe he would thank you, Roderick Norbury, if you stopped him in the public street now.

Perhaps not, and he snarled, grimly. But before I took to snaring a few of somebody else's rabbits an' hares, Gabriel an' me used to be sort of chums. I've not forgotten all he told me then. He's no common chap is Gabriel; if he can rise in the world, he means to; no plain, poor lass like you will satisfy him; and for your own good, Judith Trafford, I'm telling you now to chuck him and stick to a man who would lick the dust from your clogs!

I can't do it! I won't do it! she muttered. With me to choose once is to choose for ever! Sink or swim, come better, come worse, I stand by Gabriel!

You'll rue it some fine day, Judith.

Whenever I do I shall not come crying and complaining on your doorstep, Roderick Norbury.

If ever you do I shall be ready to take you in.

She curled her lip at that, and at the edge of the village they parted unceremoniously, and went their different ways.

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CHAPTER II.—JUDITH TRAFFORD AND GABRIEL BLACKWOOD.

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On the evening of the same day on which we saw Judith Trafford and Roderick Norbury coming down the hillside road together, the pit-brow girl was to be seen making her way along the inclined path towards Haliburton's Mine. It was midway between half-past seven and eight; there was a ruddy glow in the west, and a glimmer of iridescent hues to mark where the sun had lately sunk; and the valley, village and river lay in the hush of peace and gathering twilight.

Gone now were all traces of the somewhat grimy occupation the girl followed; soft bonnet and short breeches and skirt had been replaced by a straw hat and bright print gown; even the little wooden shoes had given way to more orthodox leather footgear; and the comely pit-brow maiden was now as fresh, sweet, and pleasant as the green valley lying around her.

At eighteen years of age, Judith Trafford was probably as strong, healthy, and handsome a specimen of budding womanhood as one could have found in all England. She was an inch or two taller than most women; was slim-built, lithe as an untamed animal, had a flowing bust for a girl in her teens still, and a great sheaf of ruddy hair, which had in it the mixed shimmer of copper and gold and chestnut.

Judith's origin was of the humblest. She was a worker, sprung from a race of workers, and had no ambition to live and die out of the sphere wherein she had been born. But her face was as perfect in its way as any a great painter could have desired to limn. It was a sweet oval, broad at the brow, and pointed and velvety at the chin; her warm complexion, downy and velvety in texture, matched well with her red-gold tresses and her big grey eyes, with dark glints in them, firm finely-moulded nose, and that pretty scarlet bow of a mouth, the lips just full enough and pouting slightly had made many a young fellow's heart leap and hunger for their owner's smile.

Judith Trafford was alone in the world. Her father had been a collier, and her mother a pit-brow woman in her day; an only child, the lass had been left parentless, and homeless, too, shortly after entering her teens. Jack Trafford had been both a hard worker and hard drinker; and then an explosion of firedamp burnt him almost to a cinder, he left some debts but no savings to the widow and daughter bearing his name.

In a month's time Mrs. Trafford had broken up her home; had gone into lodgings with her ten year old lass; had gone back to the pit-brow to earn food and shelter for them both; and just three years later, when Judith was earning four shillings a week on the pit bank, a short illness carried her mother away.

At seventeen Judith had gone to work at the Hill End Mine. Even then, though tall and scraggy beyond her age, she had beauty of an uncommon kind, and great promise of future rare comeliness. Between eighteen and nineteen she had developed a wondrous beauty of the most florid type, and Gabriel Blackwood, the underlooker at Haliburton's Colliery, and further, only son of the manager there, had been one of the very first of the Saxilham young men to admire and appreciate Judith's budding charms.

Judith and Gabriel had known one another all their days; had even been the best friends always; and when the lass turned her eighteenth year nobody in the big village seemed surprised when it became known that the young underlooker and the handsome pit-brow lassie had commenced to walk out together.

Even at sixteen Judith Trafford had given her heart and all its holiest affections to Gabriel. But the gift had been all unsought then. She had come to look upon the big, handsome miner as everything that was best and most desirable in manhood; and when Blackwood told her that he loved her, and begged her to meet him in the adjoining town one Saturday evening the previous winter, it seemed then that all happiness was found and that earth had nothing more to offer.

Half-way up the sloping, winding, unpaved way which led to the Hill End Colliery, Judith paused. A couple of hundred yards in front was the mouth of the black tunnel, the squat engine-house, the wagons and so forth; and men were moving about the place. Turning, she swept the valley for a moment, where the shallow Saxe flowed lazily, then walked slowly back, her gaze on the upland road she had climbed. And there below, coming to meet her, was the man she wished to see. She went down slowly, he swung up quickly, and in half a minute they were face to face.

Judith! What brings you up here, lass? he demanded, with a pleasant unceremoniousness. Not coming to waylay me, surely, dear?

That's just what brought me, Gabriel, she said simply.

But how could you know that I was to work to-night?

I heard your father and Mr. Haliburton saying so this afternoon when they were at the colliery; and—and I wanted to see you, Gabriel! she stammered, her fresh face flushed now with the crimson tide of confusion.

Well, you see me now, Jude, he cried airily. What is it, my dear lass?

I heard them saying that the work might be dangerous. You're to try to tap all that water that lies in the old Slackey Brow workings, and I wanted to ask you, Gabriel—dear Gabriel, to be careful, for my sake!

I will be careful for my own too, Judith. But there is nothing much to fear. And was that all you had to tell me, sweetheart?

Not all—— and she paused in sudden doubt. But I'll tell you again when we meet on Saturday night.

No; tell me now! What is it?

I was talking to Roderick Norbury this afternoon—he would walk home with me, Gabriel, and—and he said things.

Making love to you again eh? and the shadow of a black look flitted across the man's face. Curse his impudence! Doesn't Norbury know that you're my sweetheart now?

I told him; and—and he said nasty things, Gabriel. That's what made me come out to meet you.

What did he say? he demanded, in a hard tone. Nothing serious, I hope, or it may be necessary for me to punch that thick head of his again.

Oh, don't quarrel with him! she pleaded, her grey eyes fixed for a moment on his dark ones. Roderick is a dangerous man, and he might do something—might lame or kill you, dear—and then run away.

I don't fear such rats! But what did he say? I must know, Judith! If you don't tell me I won't go to town on Saturday night. Now, what is it he said?

She looked up in his face steadily for a moment, and saw it was glooming and serious. The woman's whole soul was in her eyes then, and that her life and welfare were in this man's keeping it was easy to see. Of his own feelings towards the maiden his own face gave no proof.

That Judith Trafford loved this man was no wonder. He was in the very prime of virile manhood—five-and-twenty or so—was tall, powerfully-framed, though not unduly burly, had a thick, black moustache, eyes, hair and skin all in keeping, and his face was handsome and strong enough to have won any woman's heart—especially the heart of such a one, who loved strong men who were daring, clever, ambitious, and had a spice of daredevilry in their characters.

If I must tell you, Gabriel,—she murmured.

You must—or manage without me on Saturday, was his sharp rejoinder.

Then he told me this. He said our keeping company was all a mistake—that you would never marry me; that you were too clever and ambitious for that; that you meant to get on in the world; that—that—but you can guess all the rest, Gabriel.

There was a little break in her voice which showed him that tears were not far away, and his own tones softened wonderfully as he laid one big hand on her shoulder caressingly, remarking quietly:

Yes, I can guess, Judith. But Rod Norbury is a liar—my dear lass, I love you more than I care about the world, my ambitions, everything! Say that you believe me before I run off to the mine.

I do believe you Gabriel! That is why I determined to tell you at once. But you will say nothing to that man?

I will say nothing to him—yet. But if he doesn't toe the line squarely I'll soon bundle him neck and crop out of the Hill End Mine. Now one kiss and I'm off.

She raised her face, and he drew her to him, kissing the sweet red lips passionately as a lover will. Then he hurried to the mine, and she went back to the village happy.

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CHAPTER III.—THE BACHELOR AND HIS SISTER.

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Saxehurst, the residence of good folk who owned the Hill End Colliery, was a big, plain, unpretentious house of grey stone, which stood on the eastern side of Saxilham; and, as its name denoted, it was near a grove of trees—was, in fact, almost surrounded by old trees—and the front of the house looked down into the green fruitful valley to the river which gave the place its distinctive name.

Here one Sunday afternoon in May the two Blackwoods—father and son, manager and underlooker—were taking tea with the bachelor and his spinster sister, who owned the mine in which old Seth and young Gabriel Blackwood earned their living. This quartette of employers and officials were now partaking of the afternoon meal in company—were enjoying themselves too—and while they sip the cup that cheers, and not inebriates, and munch the solid delicacies set out for their delectation, let us glance at the group.

Gabriel Blackwood the reader has ready met. But between Gabriel in his rough mining garments, and the same young chap with his Sunday suit on, there was a vast difference. Now the young underlooker was at his best. His well-cut suit of grey tweed set off his fine stalwart figure to advantage; there was a clean, healthful glow on his strong face, a sparkle in his dark eyes; and Miss Nancy Haliburton was thinking at that moment, as she sat opposite Gabriel, that it was not to be wondered at after all that this bonnie lad was reckoned the handsomest fellow in all the village and district.

Seth Blackwood was a man of fifty-one or two—big-boned, rough-spoken, honest-hearted, swart-skinned, iron-grey—in almost all things a roughly-hewn copy of his son. Seth had never cultivated any of the softer graces of manhood; all his days he had been a hard-headed, practical worker; and it was enough for him to know that he had the repute of being one of the shrewdest pit-men in England.

Silas Haliburton was about his manager's own age; he was a thin-faced wiry little fellow; had generous impulses at odd times, as will be seen shortly; and that he was not devoid of business aptitude and worldly prudence, his somewhat remarkably successful career will show. His sister Nancy, was some nine or ten years his junior; she was short and plump, apple-cheeked, and not at all bad looking; was more consistently generous and impulsive than her brother, and those sentimental—even romantic—notions sometimes found in old maids were common to her.

The rise of the Haliburtons to their present satisfactory position as owners of the Hill End Colliery may be set forth in a few words. They were the only children of their long dead parents, and the elder Haliburton had been a grocer for many years in Saxilham village. For years the provision dealer in question had contrived to eke out a decent living for himself, his wife, and two children by supplying with food, on the credit system, from one fortnightly pay day to another, the local miners and other workers.

Those were the days of long credits and fat profits; and when the Haliburtons—mother and father—shuffled off this mortal coil, they were enabled to leave to Silas and Nancy, in equal shares, the shop and all interest and goodwill therein, a row of cottages in the village, and the better part of two thousand pounds in the bank at Saxilford.

Silas was thirty-five then, and apparently a confirmed bachelor; Nancy seemed no more desirous of marrying than her brother; and so, for seven or eight years more the twain of them kept the old shop, being more careful even than their parents had been, and each year adding to the nest-egg in Saxilford Bank.

Then a depression in the coal trade and a local strike had closed the Hill End Colliery, and made its owner bankrupt. At the sale which followed, when the mining plant at the little mine was to be broken up and scattered piece-meal to the country's ends, Silas Haliburton, after a momentous consultation with his sister and others, took a decisive, and for him, a great step.

He bought the Hill End Colliery just as it stood; opened it out again a month later with Seth Blackwood as manager, and for ten years now working operations had proceeded with more or less success. That the venture on the whole had been a satisfactory one to all